Infection
by Jackilyn Trades
Summary: Set in Post-Brave New World and somewhere just before Extinction, when the T-Virus was just about to spread around America. "It's all my fault. I'm the cause of all this!" Sylar/Claire. No X-Over pairings. OCs are here.
1. Prelude: Life Will Go On

**Disclaimer:** Heroes and Resident Evil ain't mine! R.I.P. Heroes :( WE WANT IT BACK, GODDAMMIT! Uh, (ahem) sorry.

**Warning: **Rated for language, death, gore, and probably some sexual scenes somewhere near the middle or end.

**A/N:** First time for me to (ever) write anything "dark," but I'm thinking that this would be very, very _fun_. /smirk.

**P.S.:** I decided to turn this back into a Prologue, so yeah.

l|l|l

**Prelude:**

Life Will Go On

l|l|l

Carmen exited the hospital with blank eyes. Her face was unreadable, but her mind was reeling. _I need to act as soon as possible, _she decided.

She hailed a taxi and gave the address to her house before sitting back and thinking hard.

She needed something to distract herself from the heavy burden her recently-deceased father had given her to carry. Yes, she knew that all that "special training" was for a reason. Yes, she knew that she would one day have some use for them. But she never thought that she would be the cause. She never thought that she would be in a movie-like life. She never thought she would want to be in her supposed other life.

She looked out the window, found nothing interesting to look at so she just stared at her reflection. She had already known that Richard—bless his soul—wasn't her real father, since he had told her that when she was about to start high school, which she graduated from at age fourteen. Thinking of Richard, she remembered how taken up driving school the day after her graduation, gotten her license a few months later, and was given her very own vehicle—a beautiful black-and-red Harley from Richard himself, which he gave to her at her birthday, which was last week, which was the day when he was sent to the hospital, bed-ridden from his worsened cancer. He died there just a few moments ago and told her everything else he hadn't during his living days.

She cried for him then. She hadn't shed a single tear when the last breath of life left him that morning. She never liked crying in front of him (heck, she's never liked crying in front of _anybody_), and she always hated herself whenever she did. She hated herself right then when she remembered that she had company when the driver asked her if she was okay. She rubbed at her eyes and wiped the tear trails away as she assured him that she was. They had already stopped in front of her house—formerly, hers and Richard's. She paid him the appropriate amount, along with the tip, and exited the cab.

When the taxi had driven away, she was already walking towards the front door, going through her keys, and then inserting her copy of the house key once the cab had turned a corner. Her demeanor unchanging, she went straight upstairs after closing the front door behind her, then opened her bedroom door and threw herself face-first on her bed right across from the door, and emitted a loud groan that was swallowed by the bed sheets.

She sighed and rolled over to her back as she kicked her door closed. She stared up at the ceiling and composed herself, taking in deep, slow breaths as she mentally counted to ten. _One . . . Two . . ._ The thought of the things she should bring suddenly came to her. _Three . . . Four . . ._ She'd need food and clothes, of course; they're always first on the list. _Five . . ._ _Six . . ._ Then there's weapons and lots of extra ammo, too—both vital. _Seven . . ._ Her laptop's vital, too. Gods, how could she forget her _lifeline_? _Eight . . ._ _Nine . . ._ Oh, wait; she'd need her _Special Lessons _and _Other Non-Academic Stuff_ notebooks, too. She might forget some crucial information during her road-trip. _Ten . . ._

After another deep breath, she pushed herself off the bed, knelt down and took out a black-and-blue duffel bag from underneath. She never really had to use it, because Richard always worked inside the house and rarely went out for field work—he already had everything he needed in his lab, anyway. But he'd bought it for her "for the future," which she'd used to doubt would ever come, but look at her now: folding and placing all her favorite clothes and footwear in it and putting some toiletries in a small, plastic Ziploc bag before stuffing it in the duffel bag as well, leaving enough space for food and beverages.

She grabbed her backpack—which was big enough for a thick encyclopedia, a couple of thick novels, and around four or five (thin) notebooks to fit in due to the height and inside-space, though it looks quite "narrow" from outside—from the foot of her bed and turned it upside-down, shaking it as hard as she could to let all her school things drop unto the floor. They were irrelevant now—school doesn't matter anymore; something worse is coming up and secondary education was just going to have to wait. She stood her bag upright on her bed and carefully put her laptop, then her pre-mentally-listed notebooks and all the weapons and extra ammunition in her arsenal into the bag.

She zipped it closed and grabbed her duffel bag, then slung the bags over one of her shoulders each and went downstairs. Once she entered the kitchen, she put all the road food she could find from the refrigerator and cabinets into the open duffel. Once done, she closed it, and re-slung it over to the other shoulder so that the strap was lying diagonally across her torso, then shouldered her backpack on the unburdened shoulder. Heaving, she heavily got to her feet and then slowly twirled in place to make sure she didn't miss a single cabinet. Satisfied, she closed all of them and then walked towards the front door. She stopped at the doorway to take one last look at the home where she had lived in for as long as she could remember.

"Goodbye," she whispered, and immediately thought that she being sappy, causing her eye to twitch slightly at the thought, but didn't take it back as she normally does. Instead, she smiled at the happy memories she had here—_Okay, now that's going too far, _she decided, shuddered, then locked the door and closed it. While stuffing her keys in her front jeans pocket, she walked to the garage, unlocked the door, and pulled it up to take her second look at her bike. _Beautiful_, she thought to herself as she smiled. For a man who cursed motorcycles to the deepest pits of Tartarus because of the dangers they could and would cause, he had pretty good taste. _Probably saw my many posters of this particular model, _she thought with a chuckle, briefly reminiscing how she, being the stubbornly curious kid that she was, had Googled motorbikes, instantly became addicted to them by their speed and awesomeness, and posted every picture or poster of any motorbike—but most especially _this _one: a vivid black 2012 Sportster XR1200X™.

Sighing at the sadness the mere thought of her late father brought and the sheer joy of owning a bike, she walked over to it and pushed the bike out to the driveway. Once it was clear of the garage, she took one last look at it, remembering all the practice sessions they've had there, smiled at the memory, then pulled the door back down and locked it.

She got on the bike, placed her duffel bag and backpack onto the seat behind her with the straps still secured to her torso and shoulders, put the key in the ignition, turned it, causing the bike to roar to life, and she grinned. She knew that she was going to love actually _having/owning_ this bike. Smirking, she put on the black helmet, stepped on the pedal, and drove onto the street and towards the highway.

_First stop, a hotel, then Manhattan Regional Airport tomorrow._


	2. 1: It's Just the Beginning

**Disclaimer:** Heroes ain't mine . . . Resident Evil ain't mine . . . Claire and Sylar and all other Heroes characters ain't mine. I'm going to mention one OC in this chapter, also, expect some OCs to come by; one of 'em's dead (you know who it is from the prelude) but I'll still mention that deceased OC from time to time . . . Also, I made up the name of one canon character, 'cos said character's name wasn't mentioned in canon. And that's it.

**A/N:** This chapter is just a few . . . _hours_ after the prelude, so yeah. And I changed the Heroes timeline from a few months after BNW to a year and a month after BNW, in which Claire is finishing her first year in her new college in New York. Also, watch out for canon characters in this chapter as well. By the way, if there are any grammatical errors, please tell me, 'cos I didn't have enough time to proofread this. Okay, I'm gonna stop babbling now.

**ROLL CHAPTER 1!**

l|l|l

**Chapter 1:**

It's Just the Beginning

l|l|l

It was a cool night at eight o' clock. Most people would love the breeze passing through, but one person wasn't so happy. Carmen had been sitting impatiently yet silently in her seat as she kept glaring at the car in front of her. _Stupid traffic._

Had she not had her helmet on, passersby would have gawked at her to see such a young girl riding a big, black-and-red Harley. She had pushed down the black face shield on her helmet to hide her eyes that continuously dart around in search of any signs (hey, you never know, they might've already gotten there). It felt like another eternity, which was actually just a mere two minutes, had passed before the traffic started moving again. Immediately, she drove off to the nearest deserted freeway she could find and let the speedometer reach up to 80mph.

She pictured a trail of fire on the road as she tore through the road and smiled at the mental image. She glanced down at the phone she had strapped tightly and securely beside the speedometer. "You there?" she screamed through the deafening air that passed as she drove on, her words slightly muffled through the helmet she wore.

"Yes," an English-accented voice of a little girl came through the device.

"Any nearby hotels or motels or whatever?" she screamed to it.

The device was silent for a few moments, then the young girl's voice said, "There is a motel just a kilometer away. You've got a straight road ahead of you. In a few minutes, if you maintain your current speed, you will arrive there."

Carmen nodded. "Alright. Thanks."

The device fell silent at once and Carmen continued driving, maintaining speed. Within moments, as estimated, she had reached the motel. After checking in she went in the room in front of where she had parked her bike and surveyed the motel room. She'd never really been in one before, so, like the ignorant person that she is, she looked up at the ceiling first (_One dim fluorescent lamp in the midst of cracks,_ she noted), then all around her (_Peeling wallpaper, a__ single bed, a small bedside table with an alarm clock and lamp, a simple armchair, and a bathroom_). Sighing, she closed the door behind her and walked to the end of the bed before letting herself fall back-first upon it, immediately noting how lumpy it was but oh well, as she stared through the darkness and up at the cracks on the ceiling.

She tried to sleep moments later, curled up into a ball as she hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her short black hair splayed on the pillow with the longer strands and dyed-blue side fringe in front covering her face, with only her t-shirt and jeans from that day, plus the scratchy motel blanket, to protect her from the cold night breeze drifting underneath the door.

She had too many thoughts swirling inside her head to be able to sleep well. She just had a little too much to take in that day.

She sighed and sat up. She had unstrapped her phone from her bike earlier, and now she picked it up from the bedside table. "You there?" she whispered to it, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the night.

"Are you going to ask me that each time you request something from me?" the English voice came through softly from the device.

Carmen felt a smirk on her lips. "Yeah."

The English voice sighed. "What do you wish for me to tell you, Carmen?"

"I need to know what's happening with the T-virus in Raccoon City," Carmen told the device. "Has it leaked?"

The voice was silent, checking its resources. Its reply came a few seconds later, "Yes. Some have already escaped from the city gates."

Carmen sighed. "Guess it's time, then." She paused. "What's your estimation?"

The device was silent again, before it gave its guess, "In a few days—a week at most."

"I only have that long before it reaches here?" she asked, assessing everything. "Fair enough."

"Get some sleep, Carmen. You're going to need it."

Carmen nodded and put the device down on the table before lying down again. "Thank you, Queenie," she whispered to her phone before closing her eyes and willing her thought-crammed mind to empty itself.

l|l|l

_Oh dear Lord, dear God, you __**cannot **__be this cruel to me_, Claire thought to herself as she stood stock-still and wide-eyed in front of her uncle's apartment door. _My finals this week are just a frick'n slap in the face compared to __**this **__torture!_

Claire should have expected it, but she hadn't. She gaped at him in shock.

He only raised an eyebrow at her in amusement, "Hi."

Shock immediately switched to anger. "What are _you_ doing here?" Sure, after that supposed incident inside his head, he and Peter had become immediate, intimate friends, but really, why was _he_ in _Peter's_ apartment?

Sylar wasn't able to answer, for Peter had arrived from behind his shoulder. He grinned at his niece. "Hey, Claire."

She smiled back at her uncle, "Hey, Peter."

Peter invited her in, and once they were in the kitchen, she opened her mouth to ask something, but Peter asked first, "Coffee?"

"Um . . . sure."

"Cream or sugar?" he asked as he poured some of the said liquid in a cup.

"Cream." Claire sat down and Peter passed her the coffee cup. "Thanks."

"No problem," he smiled at her before sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee. "I guess you're wondering why Gabe's here, huh?"

Claire frowned. "Who?"

"Gabriel," Peter repeated.

"Me," Sylar clarified.

Claire frowned at him from across the island.

"My real name's Gabriel, unless you haven't gotten that," Sylar told her.

"How ironic," she mumbled, rolling her eyes, and sipping her coffee. "Well, what _is_he doing here?"

"Visiting," Peter said. "His apartment's just a block away, but he just wanted to see how I was doing."

"Nothing else?" she asked doubtfully.

"Don't worry, Claire, Pete here's about to propose to a certain someone, so we wouldn't be jumping into the sack. And anyway, we're not _gay_ or anything, aren't we, Pete?" Sylar deadpanned.

Peter blushed and started babbling in defense, "I'm not about to_propose_to her _yet_, Gabe. I'm just gonna . . . hint to her that I'm going to, which means I'm gonna give her some space, um, you know, to—"

"Think of her answer?" Sylar scoffed. "Yeah. Riiiight. Like I said, you're still going to propose to her. And I'm sure Em's gonna give you an immediate 'yes' once you get up the courage to ask. What are you so _scared_ about?"

Peter was silent.

"You're scared that she'll reject you, aren't you?"

Peter didn't answer.

Sylar sighed and, like an older brother would do, he patted Peter's back. "Pete, you don't have to be scared about that. She's _crazy_ about you!"

"Who is?" a small voice came from the doorway.

Peter immediately jumped out of his seat, "Emma, hey!" and went around the table to hug her.

Claire turned around in her seat to see the blond woman her uncle had been dating for almost four years.

Emma returned Peter's hug and said with a chuckle, "Miss me so much, Peter?"

"Mm-hm, definitely," Peter answered with a smile as he held her at arm's length, then leaned forward and kissed her.

Claire blushed but smiled at the affectionate exchange, and then Sylar cleared his throat.

"So, um, I better get going, Pete," Sylar drained his cup and stood.

Emma immediately pulled away and started to protest, "Oh, Gabriel, you don't have to leave just because of me."

"Don't worry, Em," Sylar smiled at her, "I just have to get to work—my shift starts in half an hour."

"Oh, right. Catch you later then, Gabe," Peter said.

"You too, Pete." Sylar clapped Peter on the back, squeezed Emma's shoulder—receiving a hug from the said blonde in response—and smiled almost shyly at Claire before exiting the apartment.

"I, uh, I better go too. I've got my finals this week. I just, uh, wanted to drop by and say hi." Claire smiled at them and stood, giving Peter a peck on the cheek and a hug to Emma before leaving the two lovebirds alone.

Once they heard the door close, Peter immediately started rambling on a new movie he bought from the video store last night.

Emma sat on the couch in front of the TV while she waited for Peter to turn it on and insert the disk. "Your shift starts in two hours, right?"

"Yep. And so does yours. Plenty of time to snuggle up and watch some rom-com," Peter told her with a grin as he played the disk and sat down beside Emma, who immediately put her feet beneath her and leaned in to him as he encircled his arm securely around her.

l|l|l

Claire found him silently walking down the hallway when she closed the door. She strode after him, making her presence known by the slight squeaking of her rubber shoes. He stopped in front of the staircase to let her catch up with him. Once she was beside him, she asked with a scowl, "What were you doing here?"

"Visiting. Weren't you listening?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, I heard, but, seriously, what? Are you just getting friendly with Peter because you still want his power or something?"

Sylar shook his head. "It's been almost four years, Claire, and instead of killing people, I've been helping them, giving them a second chance in life. Isn't that proof enough for you that I've changed?" The look in his eyes could only be sad and pleading, but she wasn't buying it.

She crossed her arms in front of her and inquired, "And you think that, by doing all that, what do you think you'll get?"

He shrugged. "A new life, I guess. Maybe even your forgiveness?"

"I will _never_ forgive you, Sylar."

"Gabriel," he corrected.

She shook her head. "I will never call you that. It's too paradoxical. You're not an angel, _Sylar._ You can't just _change_ and ask for forgiveness for all the horrible things you've done in the past. Even if it's been almost four years."

"But I can _try_, can't I?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, the emotion in his eyes intensifying.

She glared at him. "You can. But you can't gain my forgiveness in the process." She started down the steps, uncrossing her arms to clutch her bag's strap tightly.

"Well, what _can_ I do to gain your forgiveness, then?" Sylar asked, going after her.

"Nothing. I'll just keep trying to kill you until I succeed," she answered, giving him one last glare before closing the apartment complex's door in his face.

l|l|l

Gretchen was both scared and surprised. She was just riding her bicycle to the bus stop to go back to her school's dorm. One moment later, something jumped at her from behind, a blood-curdling screech emanating from it as it grabbed her and bit her neck. She screamed and pushed the thing off her.

The thing was apparently a woman with pale, bluish skin; dead-looking eyes; unkempt brown hair; ragged clothes; and blood-stained teeth. Gretchen raised her fingers to her neck and drew them to eye-level. That had been one _deep _bite.

"Agh," Gretchen groaned, the pain in her neck just starting to sink in.

The woman charged at her again. When Gretchen raised her arms to defend herself, the woman bit her forearm. Gretchen shrieked and tried to shove the woman off her, but the woman sunk her teeth into her arm, eliciting another scream from Gretchen.

The younger woman finally succeeded in getting the pale-blue one off her and cradled her wounded arm. When the woman attempted to attack again, Gretchen prayed to the Lord Almighty for someone—_anyone_—to help her.

l|l|l

Carmen didn't expect this. No, she didn't expect this at all.

But it was right there in front of her.

An infected woman had just been pushed off by her female prey. Said victim already had bite-wounds on her neck and right forearm.

_This is bad_, Carmen thought to herself. _This is very, __**very **__bad! It's too __**soon**__!_

She swung her legs off her bike, drew her pistol from its holster, and fired once at the infected woman's back to get her attention.

The shot rang through the deserted road, and the victim shrieked.

The woman staggered a few steps sideways, then looked behind her and, upon seeing Carmen, advanced.

Carmen shot at the woman's forehead, immediately killing her.

The infected woman fell forward, lifeless, but Carmen shot her at the back of the head too for good measure.

She calmly replaced her gun into its holster at her hip and looked at the victim, whose eyes were wide with fear and shock, both brown pools directed at her.

Carmen smiled at her and squatted in front of her as she held out her hand and said sweetly, "Hi. I'm Carmen. You?"

Gretchen blinked and shook hands, "Gretchen."

Carmen smiled wider. "Hi. Here," she pulled Gretchen up by the hand. "Were you going somewhere?"

"Um, yeah. My school's dormitory."

"Okay. Let's go there then, shall we?" Carmen kept smiling sweetly and innocently and grabbed Gretchen's duffel bag as she led Gretchen to her motorcycle.

"Here, let me drive," Gretchen offered.

"No, no, it's fine. You should really rest," Carmen assured as she sat Gretchen and her bag down then straddled the front seat of her bike, positioning her bags safely behind her on the bike.

Gretchen frowned at her. "Aren't you a little too _young_to drive?"

Carmen put on her helmet, then gave Gretchen a similar one as she answered, "Nah, not really. And anyway, I already have a license."

"You _do_?" Gretchen said in incredulous surprise. "Excuse me for asking, but how old are you?"

"Fifteen. Hang on!" And she drove off, passing the discarded bike and pushing 80 miles an hour again, this time towards the city.

_I hope there wouldn't be any witnesses. It's too early!_ Carmen thought worriedly.

l|l|l

**A/N:** Yeah, I'm not really happy with this chapter. :( Oh well. I had to put up _something_ just to get the plot moving. /shrug/ Review please and tell me what you think about this chapter! I take constructive criticism!


	3. 2: One Down, the Rest of the World to Go

**Disclaimer:** _Heroes_ and _Resident Evil_ aren't mine. Carmen's mine, though. Also, some sentences were taken from the _Resident Evil_ movie itself, and one quote from DreamWorks' _Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas_was put somewhere in Carmen's dialogue here. I don't own said sentences, okay?

**A/N: **Okay, so, see, this was already done, like, _ages ago_, but then I had to do a lot of research and then some so I had to edit, rewrite, reedit, re-reedit, re-rewrite, re-re-reedit, beta-read, make a few tweaks, and re-re-re-reedit, so yeah. (If you see _any _errors _at all_, _**please **_tell me so that I can correct it—I may be a perfectionist, but I'm still pretty lazy and sloppy, so yeah.) To anyone who cares, sorry it took so long. :l Also, I think it's pretty obvious what will happen based on the title. So yeah, I don't really have anything else to say on the matter. :P

**P.S. **WHOA. I've got 2 reviews! I'M HAPPY! 8D Thank you **scifigeek10 **and **flyfree** for reviewing! YOU TOTALLY MADE MY STRESSFUL DAY BETTER! 8D

**TO flyfree: **Awesome! Those three are my faves too! :D That's why I made this X3 No problem! :D

**ROLL CHAPTER 2!**

l|l|l

**Chapter 2:**

One Down, the Rest of the World to Go

l|l|l

Saturdays have always been quiet in the New York University Dorm. Whether because the dormers have gone home for the weekend, had weekend classes, or went out to hang or to the mall, the University Dorm was left deserted when Claire Bennet arrived.

She thought she'd have some peace and quiet to get some rest after her finals, which were _finally _done, but _nooo_. Some force of nature just _had _to put _him_ in _her_ room on that particular day.

Great. Just great. And it was just a couple of days after she visited Peter! Great, really, just _fucking awesome_.

"_What_ are _you _doing _here_?" she hissed, teeth bared, eyes throwing daggers at him.

He shrugged. "Just wanted to stop by and say hello to my friend's niece. What's wrong with that? There's no such law against it or anything," he smirked.

"No," she said. "But in case you've _forgotten_, one of my fathers is a politician, and I _could_ just _say _something about it to make it a law," she threatened.

Calmly, he responded, "And in case _you've _forgotten, Claire-bear, I'm sorry to remind you, but Senator Fly-Boy's _dead_."

She blinked. Yes, she had forgotten. Why? Is that a bad thing? Is she not _allowed _to think that her biological father, whom she never got to _really _know, is still here, even though it just slipped her mind that he's not walking on the earth anymore?

That thought immediately flared up her anger. She snapped, "Well, it's all _your _fault that he is, you _bastard_!"

"He deserved it," he shrugged, unaffected. When she opened her mouth to deny it, he immediately reminded her, "He practically _handed _us over to the government, Claire. He turned his back on his own kind. That makes him a traitor. And traitors are _always _punished. Killed, even."

"But he was _my father_," she reasoned.

"Who cast you away because if the media knew about you, it would put an end to his political career," he shot back.

"You son of a—" At that moment, she lost it. Unbidden tears escaped and sobs suddenly racked her body. She turned to her side and placed a hand over her face so that he wouldn't see, but of course, he already did.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. He had expected a bickering match to ensue upon her arrival, but tears?

Sylar pressed his lips into a thin line as he furrowed his thick brows. Due to his anti-social nature, he had never really been in the presence of anyone when they were grieving or crying or whatever, and neither Emma nor Peter had never cried in his presence (except when he and Pete were watching those rom-com movies in his head, but that was different) . . . What should he do?

Awkwardly, he stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her body against his for an uncomfortable yet warm hug. Claire blinked, surprised. She sniffed and wiped her nose, ignoring the slight urge to wrap her own arms around him whilst resting her head against his chest and letting him hold her. Where'd that come from? Maybe from the way his scent was intoxicating her. _For a serial killer, he does __**smell**__ good._ Hearing herself think that way made her push him away, both embarrassed and angry. Wet jade eyes blazing, she all but screamed, "Why the _hell _did you _do _that!"

He raised an eyebrow at her, looking impassive at how roughly she had pushed him, as if he was taking advantage of her or something. "Well you looked like you needed a hug."

"It's not like I'd want one from _you_!" she told him, hissing the last word like it was something she had to get out slowly yet spitefully.

Face devoid of any emotion that might give away his feelings of hurt and rejection, he just shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Well you should have just told me not to. I would have obliged," he added softly.

She didn't say anything. She just turned her back to him, opened the door, and stood by it, a scowl fixed on her red face, teary eyes looking out the hallway, hoping he could understand what she was trying to convey.

When he didn't move and instead just gazed at her with a blank expression and dejected eyes, she said in a low voice, "Get out." Then added with an almost-sob, "Please . . ." She was afraid she might break down in front of him again.

Slowly, he started walking out the door. "If you ever need me, Claire . . . just call," he murmured loud enough for her to hear as he passed her.

She was about to close the door when someone roughly pushed at it, sending her butt-first onto the floor with a _thud!_

"Sorry!" came a female's rushed voice.

"What—?" Claire frowned, seeing a deathly-pale Gretchen being half-carried, half-dragged by a girl who looked no older than sixteen.

"Hi. I'm Carmen. Sorry for barging in like this, but I think you may know this person named Gretchen, since she clearly states that this is her dorm room, too?" the girl said sweetly with an innocent smile as she helped Gretchen down on her bed before rushing outside again. That's when Claire saw the wounds on her friend's neck and forearm.

Claire frowned, blinking. "Uh, it's okay, I guess. But um . . . _what_ _**happened**_ to Gretchen?" she asked Carmen when she reappeared with Gretchen's duffel bag, and kneeled next to her friend's bed.

"Got attacked, then bitten. Nothing much to worry about. There's only _two_ cures for those particular wounds though, but I don't have the first cure so I'll just have to use the other," Carmen told her in one long breath as she carefully placed the bags on the floor, then went back out and down the stairs.

"What's the cure's name? How much is it?" Claire asked when the young girl came back with a duffel bag and a backpack.

"Well, I wouldn't really want to tell you that, but I'll just have to _show_ it to you, since I already have it with me," she said in an almost offhand manner as she carefully placed the two bags on the floor beside the door.

"Really? Well that's great!" A huge relieved smile erupted on Claire's face.

"Okay then," she said, shrugging indifferently. Immediately, she whipped out a pistol from the holster strapped to her hips and faced the two older girls with an impassive yet serious face, her dark brown eyes focused solely on her target: Gretchen, who was apathetically slumped against her pillows and had her hand in Claire's, whose eyes were wide in shock. "Any last words that the both of you want to say to each other?" Carmen asked, manner of speaking unchanging and gaze unwavering.

"_WHAT THE HELL_!" Claire screamed at her.

"Well, that's not a very nice farewell to a friend . . ."

"_I was __**directing**__ it to __**you**_!"

"Oh, you were? Didn't I say 'to each other?'" Carmen asked with a curious frown at her.

Sylar, who was watching silently and leaning against the doorframe throughout the whole exchange, chuckled. The girls looked at him; Claire glared, Gretchen remained unmoving against her pillows, and Carmen frowned as if she hadn't noticed him before. Sylar held his hands up, palms facing upward, and raised an eyebrow, nonverbally saying "What?"

Claire just rolled her eyes and faced the two girls again. "It's gonna be okay, Gretch," she whispered to the brunette.

"Whuh . . . ?" was Gretchen's confused reply as she twisted her face when she moved to sit up, like the mere movement was a strain.

Carmen, meanwhile, was still frowning at him. Sylar raised his other eyebrow at her. "You look familiar somehow." He pocketed his hands and frowned, inclining his head to the side, "Do I know you?"

Carmen shrugged. "Maybe we ran into each other in the street at some point or something," she theorized then faced the two other girls again. "Well? Last exchange of words?"

"Wait. One question: WHY?" Claire frowned.

"Because it's already been . . ." she glanced at her watch, "fifty-six minutes and forty-five seconds since she was bitten." She looked up, "And once an hour has passed," she snapped her fingers, "that's it."

The two other alert beings in the room just frowned at her.

"Anyway, hurry up with the Last Words, _please_?" Carmen reminded, getting impatient.

"Claire?" Gretchen asked, blinking slowly.

"I'm here, Gretch," Claire reassured her friend. "Now, tell me what happened to you."

The brunette frowned as if she was struggling to remember. "I was . . . I was biking to a bus stop . . . and then . . . I remember . . . I remember a . . . a woman. And I don't know why, but she bit me, and—"

"She _bit_ you?" Claire was horrified.

"Yes."

"A _woman_ bit you?" Claire asked in disbelief.

Gretchen nodded slowly as she answered weakly, "Yes. Believe it or not, a _woman_ bit me. She was . . . so _pale_ that her skin looked bluish . . . had _crazy_, hungry eyes . . . messy hair . . . tattered clothes . . . and . . . sharp, _sharp_ teeth," she was frowning as she described the woman, like she was grasping at a slowly fading memory.

"The very definition of a zombie," Sylar said passively.

"Zombies don't _exist_, Sylar." Claire glared at him.

"_We're_ not supposed to exist either," Sylar reminded. "So, at this rate, _anything's_ possible."

Claire looked away, not wanting to think about that day when she jumped from the ferris wheel. "Gretch, could you tell me that woman's name?"

"I didn't know who she was," Gretchen croaked. "Sorry."

"Hmm . . ." Claire pursed her lips, thinking up ways to prevent her friend from dying under the hands—well, gun, actually—of an unfamiliar girl.

"Is that it?" Carmen asked them impatiently.

"What? NO!" Claire immediately snapped out of her thoughts.

Carmen sighed. "Could you please hurry up? If you don't finish your conversation within two . . ." she took another quick glance at her watch, "two minutes and thirty-five seconds, then I'll have to shoot."

"_Two-point-thirty-five minutes_? _**What**_!"

"Look, Claire—"

"Wait, how'd you know my name?" Claire frowned suspiciously at her.

"I watch TV, too, y'know," Carmen explained vaguely, then continued, "Anyway. Claire, during the whole trip to here, your friend was weakening, which is why I had to half-drag, half-carry her here. And well," Carmen continued, "you may have noticed that, right?"

Claire nodded with a persistent frown that urged Carmen to continue.

"Well, you see, her body's starting to shut down, plus her eyesight's slowly fading as well. So, if you're not done with your little heart-to-heart with her yet, then _please _hurry up, because in a matter of a few more seconds, she will get weaker and weaker until she'll _completely_ shut down after two minutes, or in other words, _die_. Okay?" Carmen smiled like a sweet, innocent little girl.

"_What_?" Claire half-screamed in disbelief.

"You have one and a half minutes left. Say your goodbyes," Carmen said, losing all traces of sweetness and switching back to cold indifference.

"Claire . . ." Gretchen croaked.

"Gretch, you've been a good friend. I _won't_ let you die," Claire reassured, grasping both of her friend's hands.

"Of course not. But she _will_ anyway," Carmen said apathetically.

Gretchen frowned. "I don't want to die . . ." Failing brown eyes saddened, "Help me, Claire . . ."

"It's okay, Gretch," Claire said softly. "Whatever she says, I _won't _let you die. Understand?"

Gretchen nodded once. "Claire. I think she's serious."

"She's just a kid."

"_I beg your pardon_!" Claire looked up to an offended-looking Carmen.

"What? It's true," Claire told her very matter-of-factly. "You're only, like, what? Sixteen?"

"_Fifteen._"

"See?"

"I AM _NOT_ A CHILD!"

"You're acting like one right now," Claire poked.

"I most certainly am _not_!" Carmen protested. "I am acting like a grown-up whom you have just offended!"

"Please," Claire rolled her eyes. "I bet you can't even handle that gun. It's probably a fake, too." _There's a really big chance that what I'm saying is true_, Claire thought to herself.

Fuming, Carmen shot the wall directly to her right, eliciting cracks from the dry cement.

"Oh, shit," Claire whispered softly to herself.

Gretchen cringed at the sound. "Claire, what—"

"It was nothing, Gretch," Claire reassured the brunette before turning back to the dark-haired youngster. "How do you _know _this kind of stuff?" Claire asked, blinking in disbelief.

"Now, you're _insulting _me, you know," Carmen said through gritted teeth. "Time's up! Goodbye, Gretchen."

"_NO_!" Claire leapt to Gretchen's aid, blocking the shot, but the bullet sailed past her without any harm. Claire frowned and only then did she notice that the minute heat that was radiating from her friend just a while ago behind her was gone. She heard a soft _thump_ from the floor. She looked down and saw Gretchen's lifeless body slumped on the floor with two gaping bullet holes in the side of her head. _She must've shot those other bullets past me while I was preoccupied with the other one._

_**Shit.**_

Her ear-piercing scream was so loud that the passers-by and the students near the dorm outside looked up at the sound, then brushed it off as some "major" girl problem at the high pitch of the scream.

l|l|l

Claire was grieving again. Her best friend was dead. Again. Why does she _always_ lose her best friends? First Jackie, then Zack, now Gretchen. Her life was just so fuckin' _perfect_.

l|l|l

"So, basically, zombies are real?" Sylar asked the young black-haired girl calmly as they both leaned against the wall of the dorm room, watching Claire crying over her dead friend on her knees on the floor.

"Yeah, basically," Carmen confirmed, nodding. Her pistol was back in its holster now, and she hoped she wouldn't have to use it any time soon. "It's still too early . . ." she whispered to herself.

"What is?"

"Nothing. Just doing a monologue," she said dismissively.

l|l|l

"_WHY_!" Claire screeched in agony. "_Why_ did you just _do that_!"

"Ugh. Weren't you paying any _attention_?" Carmen snapped, annoyed.

"I _was_, but I don't _get it_!"

Carmen sighed, "Oh God," and started to explain, "You see, there's this certain corporation called Umbrella..." Carmen told them about the T-Virus, how it got out of the Hive, how it spread throughout Raccoon City, how Alice and her comrades managed to get out, and that the city gates were closed to prevent the virus from spreading further outside the world.

"And now, I don't know where Alice and company are because that was the last piece of information in the Umbrella files," Carmen finished.

Throughout the whole time she was narrating, Carmen and Sylar had sat cross-legged on the floor, and Claire had finally let go of her friend's corpse to lean towards her two uninvited guests.

"So, what bit Gretchen was basically 'an Infected'?" Claire asked, to which Carmen nodded as a reply. "But how? I thought the Virus was safely inside the city?"

"Exactly. It _was_. But it leaked because there was no one to guard the gates anymore. And anyway, the Infected can still climb and run and such."

"So . . . there's going to be a zombie apocalypse?"

"Yep."

"Damn," Claire muttered. "But . . . What's the logic behind all this? I mean . . . us _'specials'_ only came to be because of a genetic mutation. So how do _zombies _come back to life? And why do they eat brains? I mean, there _must _be a scientific explanation for that, right?"

"I'm not really sure about those video game zombies, but the Infected—which are practically zombies—don't really eat brains in general. In answer to your first question, even in death the human body still remains active, you see. Hair and fingernails continue to grow, new cells are produced, and the brain itself holds a small electrical charge that takes months to dissipate. The T-Virus provides a massive jolt both to cellular growth and to those trace electrical impulses. Put quite simply, it reanimates the body."

"It brings the dead back to life," Claire concluded.

"Not fully," Carmen corrected. "They just have the simplest of motor functions . . . perhaps a little memory . . . virtually _no_ intelligence. They're driven by the basest of impulses, the most basic of needs: the need to feed. A Hunger, you may say."

Sylar flinched unnoticeably by the mention of a 'Hunger.' He knew what being driven by one was like . . .

"So you just blow off their heads and they die, right?" Claire asked.

"Well . . . Like those zombie games, you blow off their heads because that's their control center. But the Infected are slightly different: you can kill them by severing the top of the spinal column or creating a massive trauma to the brain, which are the most effective methods. You need to do that _twice_ though, for good measure. You never know, there might still be some juice left in 'em."

"How did this happen?"

Carmen wasn't able to answer because her cellphone started to ring. It was a very odd ringtone though: "Carmen! Carmen! Carmen!" came a British-accented voice of a little girl.

Carmen took out her phone. "Yes, Queenie?"

"Carmen, I'm sorry to tell you this but some of the creatures have already entered the city."

"Aw, _shit_. But I was really waiting for a week at most to relax before they could come!" Carmen protested.

"I know. I'm sorry. They were able to arrive three days earlier due to quicker transportation."

"_What_ quicker transportation!" Carmen asked her phone indignantly.

"_Public_ transportation."

"Aw _crap_. More spreading, huh? Stupid leakage," she muttered. ". . . Well, I've already killed two, anyway, so I guess there's a highlight in that," Carmen mumbled in a lighter tone.

"Two already, eh?"

"Well, one was already infected and the other was just bitten but was about to be an Infected as well," Carmen clarified.

"I see."

"So, what now, Queenie?"

"Get as far away as possible. Save as many civilians as you can. And most importantly: _don't_. _**Get**_. _**BITTEN**_. _**OR**__** SCRATCHED!**_ Understood?"

Carmen nodded. "Understood. You know . . . I feel like I'm in one of those zombie games I used to play . . . Same goals, same creatures to kill . . . It's _exhilarating_," Carmen said, smiling broadly.

"Right. Well, that is my status report for now. I shall update you if anything happens."

"Gotcha. Thanks, Queenie." She pocketed her phone as she got up to leave. "Well, I'm off," she informed as she put the straps of her bags around her once more. "I've got places to go, _things_ to destroy, _stuff_ to do." At the doorway, she threw "_Ta_," over her shoulder at them before descending the steps.

A pensive silence filled the dorm room.

"Well. That was . . . informative," Sylar commented, then looked up at Claire. "Looks like a new headline's gonna steal your spotlight," he quipped.

Claire glared at him. "_Ha_-freaking-_ha_," was her snarky response.

He just shrugged, then stood and gave her a thoughtful look, "See you soon, Claire-bear," then left.

Claire just sat there in dumbfounded confusion as she organized her thoughts and the new information the strange girl had just given them.

l|l|l

**A/N:** This chapter is still pretty short, so I'm still not happy. :l I **am **happy though that Gretchen's already dead (I've always hated her in the show; she was ruining all the Sylaire! DX) Anyway. Sorry for the shortness and the lateness to anyone who actually takes their precious time to read this crap. X( **PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! They tell me whether this is still worth continuing or not! **:D


	4. 3: It Has Begun

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Heroes or Resident Evil (sadly). My Japanese OC's name is borrowed (with permission) from a friend who owns the OC—I only altered her personality for this story. Also, songs and bands mentioned/used in this chapter are not mine—they belong to their respective owners.

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. This was supposed to be posted on Sunday but, sadly, our Internet connection went haywire and decided to cut itself off from us. So since it finally decided to come back, that can only mean one thing: UPDATE! :D (ahem.) Explanation: (number)-scaler means that's the rating of the mentioned person on a scale of one to ten, and {*} means start and end flashback. Mmkay?

**ROLL CHAPTER 3!**

l|l|l

**Chapter 3:**

It Has Begun

l|l|l

Carmen knocked on the door and waited. She bit her lip, thinking of how much information she should give them . . .

She felt ML's hand squeeze hers and she looked over her shoulder at him. She had just dragged him with her to the two blocks from his house to the Garcias' Residence on her bike. When he smiled at her, she smiled back and turned towards the door again. He had always been there for her ever since. She remembered with a smile how they'd become immediate friends on his first day at the school.

{*}

"_Hey, um, excuse me." Carmen turned around to see a really cute blonde guy with startlingly blue eyes gripping the strap of his backpack. He was definitely new, since everyone in the school was from North Face Middle School, and she's never seen him before._

"_Yeah?" she asked him, wondering what an 8.5-scaler would want with a reticent 7-scaler like her._

"_Uh, where's Class 9A?"_

"_Oh, that. Actually, I'm heading towards it right now. If you like, we could walk there together." Okay, where did that sudden friendliness come from?_

_But all confusion looking for reason went out the window when he smiled at her. "Great! Thanks." So they walked side by side to the classroom a couple of hallways away. "I'm ML, by the way," he held out his hand to her._

_She gave her first initials to him, "CJ," and shook hands. "Does ML stand for Mario and Luigi?"_

_He raised an eyebrow at her. "Um, no, actually."_

"_Oh. Sorry." That's when she noticed his shirt—it had the word _WANTED_ on it, with individual pictures of all five Avenged Sevenfold members (with Rev and not__Arin Ilejay_ _on it) and _$1,000,000 _underneath each picture. "Does the M stand for Matt and is your last name Shadows or Sanders, then?"_

_He raised both eyebrows this time. "Well, no. Um . . . You're an A7X-er?"_

_She grinned up at him. "I'm that obvious?"_

_He chuckled and glanced at her shirt. "Well does your C stand for Chuck __Comeau__?"_

_Her grinned grew wider and looked down at her black-and-white _Simple Plan _shirt. "Sadly, no," she responded with a chuckle._

"_Well, that's too bad. It would be awesome to be named after him. Or __Jeff Stinco, if that's what your J stand for.__"_

"_Most def," she agreed. "And no to your guess," she replied with a grin._

"_Pretty obvious since you're a girl and those were boys' names."_

"_Pretty obvious that you were kidding around."_

"_But it __**would **__be pretty cool if you were named after a guy who just so happens to be a Simple Plan band member."_

"_Same to you with M. Shadows and Avenged Sevenfold."_

"_Too bad Rev's dead," he lamented._

"_Best. Drummer. __**Ever**__."_

"_Have you heard of their song _Scream_?" he suddenly inquired._

"_Hell yeah! First A7X song I've ever heard and I instantly fell in love!" she answered promptly with another grin. "Syn is __**awesome**__!"_

"_Best. Lead guitarist. __**Ever**__."_

_They laughed at that._

_Then they noticed that one of Class 9A's doors was right beside them. "So this is it," she told him._

"_Cool." He glanced at her, "ML stands for Mark Luis, by the way."_

_She looked up at him, "Carmen Jane."_

_He smiled. "Would you mind if I called you Karma?"_

_She smiled back, "I wouldn't. It sounds cool, actually. Would you mind if I called you Nine-Ten?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "My first assumption for ML was Mario and Luigi, and they're made by Nintendo, and that's where I got Nine-Ten," she clarified._

_He chuckled, "Wow. Sure, go ahead, I wouldn't mind." He flashed her another smile and she thought she could just melt right there and then from the amount of smiles she'd received from him._

{*}

The door was opened by a Japanese girl whose long black hair was held in place by a headband that had a _Naruto _Sand Village symbol on the silver metallic part in the middle of the cloth. The girl held her arms out, "Carmieeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Sassyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" Carmen let go of ML's hand and hugged the girl.

Sasume let go and excitedly told her that she just _had _to show her something, grabbed Carmen's hand, and led her into the house.

ML just smiled and shook his head, walking into the house and closing the door behind him before following the girls to an upstairs balcony connected to Sasume's bedroom, where Carmen was standing in front of the band's instruments (excluding ML's drum set).

Carmen was about to pick up her Fender Strat—which she'd lent to Jorge, Sasume's 9-scaler Spanish cousin who lives with her and her family, to tune since she can't tune without an electric tuner (which she'd recently lost) even if her life depended on it—when Sasume batted her hand away, "Ah-ah-ah. _You _get to sit on the bed," she pointed to the single bed right across from the balcony, "and watch and listen."

Carmen rolled her eyes, but did as she was told. Once seated, Sasume and Jorge already had their guitars' straps around them, ready to play, as was ML, who had seated himself at Jorge's drum set and got out his drum sticks from his rear jeans pocket.

"Ready, Carmie?" Sasume asked with a smile.

"Go for it, guys," Carmen encouraged.

Jorge stepped up to his microphone and cleared his throat. "Good midday, folks. It's a wonderful, wonderful day—sun shining not too brightly, birds chirping not too annoyingly, spring breeze blowing not too loudly, you get the gist." Sasume rolled her eyes. "So—cutting to chase; we are _Foursome_and we are here to give a certain birthday girl our birthday gift to her."

"Can you be a little _less _redundant, _Georgie_?" Sasume queried in exasperation.

Jorge glanced at his cousin before whispering to the mic, "She's just jealous 'cause she's not the one doing the introduction thing." ML chortled at this and Jorge grinned at Sasume, who rolled her eyes. "So, let's do this thing!" And they started to play.

Carmen frowned, familiar with the chords but she can't seem to put her finger on the song title . . .

"_Hey . . . you . . . I know I'm in the wrong," _Jorge started the song's first lines, and Carmen knew she recognized the lyrics, but she still doesn't know the title (_I __**know **__I must've heard this song two or three times before, I just __**know **__it, _she thought to herself), _"time . . . flies . . . when you're having fun._

"_You wake up, another year is gone,_

"_You're now fifteen," _Jorge altered the last three syllables to get it in line with Carmen's current age, Carmen noticed.

"_I guess you wanna know-ohh-ohh-ohh-oh," _Sasume chorused the harmonization with Jorge, _"Why I'm singin' this so-ohh-ohh-ohh-ong," _another alteration, Carmen noted.

"_It's been a day or so-oh-ohh-oh-oh-oh,_

"_I know it's kinda late," _Jorge took up the next couple of lines of the pre-chorus, _"But Happy Birthday."_

Happy Birthday_ by The Click Five! _Carmen realized.

"_Yeah, yeah, whoa-oh," _Sasume and ML chorused.

Jorge continued singing, _"I know you hate me," _at this line, he shrugged with a mock-sad frown, which Carmen laughed at, as Sasume and ML harmonized again, _"Yeah, yeah, whoa-oh."_

"_Well, I miss you too,"_ Jorge winked playfully at her, and she chuckled.

"_Yeah, yeah, I know."_

"_I know it's kinda late,_

"_But Happy Birthday . . ." _Jorge skipped and played the final chorus' chords, _"To you . . ." _He let the last chords resonate for a few seconds, then raised his right hand. ML stood and he and Sasume raised their hands as well. The three bowed in synch and Carmen clapped, chortling.

"Aww, thanks, you guys," she stood and walked over to them, hugging each one with a smile. "Best. Birthday gift. _So far_."

The four chuckled at the private joke, then Sasume asked, "So what'd Richard give ya?"

At this, Carmen grinned, "Remember those pictures of the Harley Sportster I had in my room?"

Sasume's eyes widened at the implication. "Oh my gods, he bought it for you?"

Carmen enthusiastically nodded and Sasume threw herself at her, squealing, "Oh my gods, I'm so freakin' happy for you!" since she _knew _just how much Carmen daydreamed about owning (or at least riding) that certain bike.

"Oh my gods, I'm so freakin' happy for me too!" Carmen responded as they both laughed in glee. After a few more girly giggles that left the boys grimacing, they let go of each other.

"So, ready to practice _Astronaut_?" Sasume asked with a big smile.

Carmen's expression abruptly turned somber. "Actually, there's something I wanted to tell you guys . . ."

l|l|l

They say that humans get an ominous feeling deep in the pit of their stomach when they hear a scream. Well, that's what Claire felt when she heard a bloodcurdling one resonating throughout the deserted streets.

The scary part was that it didn't stop.

Claire took in a deep breath, counting to ten before expelling it just as slowly. Hands tightening around the handle of her gun, she peeked around the corner of the building she was leaning against. She paled when she saw a zombie eating the insides of a woman in a blue Citroen; her gray dress suit was splattered with blood, and she was fearfully yet pointlessly smacking the zombie's head with her hand bag.

Claire swiftly turned the corner, planting her feet a shoulder's length apart, steadied her hand, and shot a bullet into the zombie's head, instantly killing it. The woman yelped at the sound and screamed again when the zombie's blood sprayed all over her face and suit.

Claire waited for a few moments before gingerly stepping up to them. She was a few feet away from the Infected but was able to see that she had hit it squarely in the side of the head just above the ear. She shot its head again for good measure. Claire glanced at the blood-splattered, still-screaming woman in the car. It took all of Claire's willpower to avoid looking at the woman's half-eaten guts spilling out the top part of her open dress suit.

Claire snapped her fingers in front of the woman's face. She had to do it a few times before the woman could snap out of her loud trance. She fixed her blue eyes on Claire and managed to croak out, "Help me . . ."

Claire steeled herself and raised her gun to the woman's forehead. Her blue eyes immediately widened in fear. "I'm sorry I couldn't have come earlier," Claire told her. Before the woman could register what she said, Claire shot her between the eyes.

She expelled the breath she'd been holding, then, after checking the backseat, began rummaging through the woman's things. She needed to find her car keys, and fast, since her car's front bumper was still pressed against the side of a building somewhere after her first zombie encounter and she can't risk having a zombie sneak up on her.

Phone—discard; already have one. White handkerchief—useful; she used it to wipe the blood off her face and gun, then tossed it over her shoulder, letting it drop somewhere on the road. Wallet—valuable; she shoved it in her jeans pocket. Some office notes—useless. Post-Its—superfluous. Kleenex—may be useful; she put them in the car's ashtray. Car keys—bingo!

She lugged the dead woman out of the car and dumped her on the sidewalk. She shot her in the head again to ease the nagging feeling that she might come back as an undead. Sighing, she walked back to the car and checked the tires and underneath the car. After deciding the car was zombie-free and the tires had enough air (never assume, always check), Claire used the Kleenex in the ashtray to wipe off the blood on the driver's seat and window before sliding into the seat and closing and locking the car doors. When she inserted the key and heard the engine rev up to life, she smiled. After almost two days, she was _finally _going to be able to get some help from Peter.

_WUMP!_

Claire let out a small yelp when she heard the sound of something heavy falling onto the hood of her pilfered car, but it turned into a scream instead when she saw that that something was a zombie, which was currently banging its fists onto the windshield.

Claire stepped on the gas pedal and roared away, turning the car to left, then quickly turning it to the other direction, and then alternating directions as quickly as the car can. After a few more turns, the side-to-side movement was finally enough to make the frustrated zombie fall off the car, which raced straight forward after dropping the undead. Claire immediately U-turned and faced the zombie that had gotten to its feet. She glared at it and its hungry eyes glared right back before letting out a bloodcurdling screech and charging towards her. She stepped on the gas again and hit the zombie on the torso, causing it to tumble backwards and sideways. She took the opportunity to speed forward again. She smiled when she heard the sound of something being crushed. She reversed far enough to see where she had squashed it: left shoulder and head. She got back on gear and sped forward, satisfied with the double crunching sound underneath her left front and back tires.

Claire expelled a sigh of relief. Taking a few more calming breaths, she drove off towards Peter's apartment.

l|l|l

They were staring at her.

_Not a good sign,_ Carmen decided, swallowing a worry-lump in her throat.

Sasume had decided they listen to whatever "serious talk" Carmen had to tell them in the kitchen, where they ate nachos covered in melted cheddar cheese and drank Coke in cans to "get themselves ready" before Carmen could begin.

Carmen had told them that Richard was dead. This brought on condolences and hugs from her friends. She only gave a sad smile and a return of their hugs as thanks. Then Carmen told them what Richard had told her at his deathbed, which included the Umbrella Corporation, the T-virus, and Alice.

"_You must survive __**at all costs**__ and rescue as __**many**__ civilians as you can. Try going to Antarctica, where the population composes of penguins and seals and . . . whatever other animals that live there," _she remembered Richard telling her last, noting with a small inward smile how little they both knew of geography; both of them didn't really travel that much.

The story brought silence as all her friends did was stare.

Finally, Carmen picked up her can of Coke, took a few gulps before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and broke the silence, "Guys, please say something," she pleaded.

"You're shitting us, right?" Jorge asked with his slight Spanish accent heavily overwhelmed by the American accent.

The _I'm fucking serious _look on her face was all Jorge needed for an answer.

Silence fell once more as they mulled over the information.

"So . . . there's gonna be a zombie apocalypse, huh?" ML asked.

"Didn't I just say that?" Carmen raised an eyebrow at him.

ML just smiled and shrugged.

"So what are you gonna do?" Sasume asked.

"First off, recruit you guys, of course," Carmen told them with a smile. "Second, go to New Jersey. I need to find my bio-dad there. And third, have a road trip to Antarctica during which I—or, most preferably, _we_—kill off as many zombies as we can whilst saving as many civilians as we can, per Richard's request."

"You're calling him Richard now, huh?" ML observed.

Carmen shrugged. "Helps lessen the pain."

"So what do you think _we _should do? My dad's still in Japan," Sasume reminded. "His contract's not over till the next few months."

"And Uncle Lucky's still at his boyfriend's," Jorge informed. "So, without _any_ adult supervision, we can't just go off to Manhattan National Airport without a chaperone _at all_. Security won't let through a group of fifteen-year-olds carrying duffel bags, backpacks, and band equipment."

"I _know_ that, J. I've already tried just yesterday," Carmen told him. "So, what I had in mind was drive back here, then go back there with you guys and—"

"Even if we tell them we have a gig coming up in New Jersey, I doubt they'll buy it," Sasume said, reading her thoughts.

"Face it, CJ," ML told her sadly, "we can't do this. We're better off just driving to New Jersey."

"But that could take _days_!" Carmen protested. "I _need _to do it in _hours_!"

"Well, until Uncle Lucky comes home," Sasume amended, "we can't go anywhere."

"And how long does your uncle _usually _take?" Carmen prodded.

"Used to be a few hours tops when we were younger," Jorge answered.

"And recently?"

He hesitated. "Well . . . His latest was . . . two days."

"And when did he leave this time?"

"Just this morning," he reluctantly answered.

"So we go _now_. I don't wanna hang around with zombies on the loose!"

"But I thought you said we had time?" ML asked curiously.

"We _did_ have time," Carmen clarified. "Queenie said she's already spotted some within a twenty-mile radius."

"So? Far enough to chill for a while, don't you think?"

"Actually, I think Carmen's right. It'd be better if we went now instead of later," Sasume said. "I like my internal organs, thank you very much."

"Don't you have a gun for that sort of thing?" Jorge raised an eyebrow at her from across the table.

"Dad doesn't keep guns. He's an office worker, not a policeman."

"You think Uncle Lucky's hid any around here?"

"Doubtful. He works as a cashier at a coffee shop. What would he need a gun for?"

"Robberies."

"I've never in my life _ever _heard of a coffee shop being robbed before."

"Well, you never know, there might be some robbers out there looking for new unwitting places to steal from," Jorge deadpanned.

"He's got a point, Sass," ML put in.

"But Uncle Lucky's not the type to wield a gun!" Sasume protested.

Just then, a .45 caliber pistol slid to the middle of the island, right in between Sasume and Jorge. The three looked half-alarmed, half-astonished at the sight of the weapon. They looked up to see Carmen, who had silently got out of her seat to scour their Uncle Lucky's bedroom, whose door was open as proof, standing calmly in her place with an impassive look on her face.

"Found this in Lucky's bedroom," Carmen informed them. "Apparently, he went to military school in college, per his dad's request, I'd bet."

The cousins averted their stares back to the gun on the table.

"And I found _this_," Carmen put a box full of extra ammo next to the gun, "in his upper bedside drawer along with the gun."

"Did you check his _entire _room?" Jorge asked, still gawking at the weapon.

"Nah, I just checked his bedside table. I saw his military school diploma on the wall behind the door."

"Huh," the cousins were too dumbfounded to say anything coherent.

"So what do you say, guys?" Her three friends looked up at her. "You with me on this?" She picked up her Coke, letting it hover above the gun and ammo.

After a few heartbeats of silence, Sasume shrugged and was the first to put her can beside Carmen's. "Whatever. Uncle Lucky better not miss this thing," she nodded to the gun.

"Don't worry. He's got spares in his other drawers. I saw," Carmen assured her with a smile.

"We better leave a Post-It then," Sasume smiled back.

Jorge put his own can to the other side of Carmen's. "Let's go blow up some zombie ass!" he declared with a grin.

ML put his Coke in front of her can. "Zombie Response Team!"

"Kill or be eaten!" the four friends chorused as they clinked their cans and downed their soda.

l|l|l

Sylar drove through the relatively silent Manhattan streets; the sound of the engine of the cherry-red Vespa he stole was the only one he could hear.

It had only been two days ago when that strange girl, Carmen, had informed him and Claire about an impending zombie apocalypse.

{*}

_So this is what she meant when she said it was "too early," _he realized. _Too bad. A few more days would've been nice. Good thing Peter has already proposed to Emma two days ago. _He smiled at the memory of the news . . .

"_Gabe! GABE! __**GABE!**__" Peter voice all but screamed when Sylar entered Peter's apartment per his friend's summons._

"_Pete, calm down! I can hear you! What is it?" he responded, accepting the hug Peter forced him into._

"_She said 'YES'!"_

_In spite of the lingering despondency his failed visit to Claire's dorm room left him, he grinned. "See? I told you so!"_

"_I KNOW! GOD, GABE, I SHOULD'VE BELIEVED YOU, YOU OPTIMISTIC BASTARD!" he sounded more delirious and grateful than angry._

"_Yeah, well, congratulations, buddy! I'm really, really happy for you!" He meant it. Of course he did. "When is the happy occasion?"_

"_Next month! Gabe, can you __**believe**__ that? I'M GETTING MARRIED NEXT MONTH! TO __**EMMA**__! SHE SAID 'YES'!"_

_Sylar chuckled. "Alrighty, then. So where are you getting married?"_

"_Some church. I'M GONNA BE MARRIED IN SOME CHURCH! TO __**EMMA**__!"_

"_I know, I know," Sylar interjected as he patted him in the back before Peter could repeat himself. "But which church?"_

"_I don't know, I don't care, as long as it's Emma I'm marrying." Peter sighed dreamily as he rested his head on Sylar's shoulder. "She's so __**nice **__and __**sweet**__, Gabe. She's so beautiful too . . . She's __**perfect**__ . . ." Another dreamy sigh. "She's The One." Sylar could feel him smile against the fabric of his shirt. "I'm so glad she said 'yes' . . ."_

"_I'm glad for you too, buddy." He gave him another pat in the back. "Well, tell her congratulations for me, alright?" Sylar said with a grin as held him at arm's length. "I still have my shift later on."_

"_Right, yeah, sure. I need to Claire first, though. Emma and I decided to tell her tonight at dinner in some restaurant near her school. We're gonna tell her that Emma and I are getting MARRIED!" The euphoria in his eyes could have been caused by some illegal drug, but Sylar knew better._

_Before he could think of some sappy line like "it was the drug of love" or something, Sylar clapped him on the back again. "Stay away from the keg, alright?" he quipped. Peter gave a small laugh and assured him that that he would._

{*}

Sylar was about to turn a corner when an electric blue pickup truck came to view and he had to slam on the brakes. Good thing he did, else he might've flown off the scooter and onto the roof of the truck he would've hit, whose driver stepped on the brakes too out of surprise—it was evident because the passengers yelped and the music emanating from inside the truck was turned off. His scooter stopped just a few inches away from the passenger door of the truck.

He let out a breath of relief. He noticed a big canvas sheet tied down, covering something on the bed of the truck and frowned. He glanced at the odd array of passengers—all of which were teenagers who looked about fifteen: a Japanese girl wearing a black headband with a symbol of what looked like an hourglass with a rectangular lid on top, a Spanish boy with curly black hair sitting next to her in the back seat, a blonde boy with electric blue eyes in the passenger seat, and a girl with short, spiky black hair whose side bangs were dyed blue in the driver's seat.

The only one he recognized was the driver. "Carmen?" he frowned at her.

So did she. "I think I've seen you before . . ."

"Right. I haven't really introduced myself last time." He cleared his throat. "I'm Gabriel."

"Mmkay, well, hi, Gabriel," Carmen nodded to him in greeting. "This is ML Keiths," she gestured to the boy in the passenger's seat.

He frowned slightly. "Uh, is that Emile or . . . ?"

"ML, actually," ML corrected. "As in the letters M and L. My real name's Mark Luis."

"Ah."

"And these two in the backseat are Sasume and Jorge Garcia. They're cousins."

Sylar incredulously raised an eyebrow, to which the cousins rolled their eyes at as if they get that reaction every time.

"Their dads are brothers, but they like different women—as you can see," Carmen explained.

"Oh-kay . . ."

"Where're you headed?"

He shrugged. "Away."

"Would you like to come with?"

Instantly, the three other teenagers' eyes gleamed and they babbled in agreement.

"Uh . . . sure, I guess. _I'm_ driving, though," Sylar told them, cutting the engine of his scooter and swinging his leg over it to get to his feet. He loosened the straps of the backpack on his shoulders a bit as he walked towards the driver's side.

"You don't trust my driving skills, do ya?" Carmen guessed with a roll of her eyes, but got out of the truck. "For your information, I've got a license."

"I bet you got it a few days ago—or a week ago, at most." Her cold stare was all he needed for an answer.

"Whatever." She got into the backseat, sliding in next to Jorge in the rear bench seat.

"Where to, then?" he asked as he got into the driver's seat.

"Manhattan National Airport," she promptly answered.

"Do you have your passports?" He raised an eyebrow at them in the rear-view mirror.

"Chillax, dude, 'course we do. _We _should be the ones to ask _you _if you have _your_ passport," Carmen told him, raising her own eyebrow at him in the rear-view mirror.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, it's in here." He shrugged off the backpack, which was suddenly grabbed by Carmen. His head whipped to the side to look over his shoulder so quickly, he was half-afraid he'd snap his own neck.

"Just storing the bag, mate, don't fuss," Carmen explained as she placed his bag on the floor of the car, where their own backpacks and duffels were stored as well.

"Just being sure," he grumbled and turned back to the windshield, replacing his hands on the wheel.

"Let's go then!" Carmen declared and, just as Sylar stepped on the gas, turned on the radio again, which was hooked to an iPod in the ashtray.

Some rock song started blaring and the teenagers cheered, apparently familiar with it.

As if the bass and drums weren't enough, they started singing along.

"_I feel insane_

_Every single time_

_I'm asked to compromise,_

'_Cause I'm afraid_

_And stuck in my ways,_

_And that's the way_

_It stay-ay-ay-ays!"_

_Oh dear Lord, dear God, why art thou cruel? _he thought as he felt a headache begin to mount, though it was statistically impossible.

"_I'm not insane, I'm not in-saaaaaane!_

_I'm not insane, I'm noooooot!_

_Not in-sane!"_

He highly doubted that.

Sylar sighed. This was going to be one _loooong _drive. _Now, why in hell would they make a ruckus in the middle of a deserted city filled with zombies?_

l|l|l

**A/N: **Had to put Sylar in with the kids—they needed a chaperone, okay? But don't worry, they'll run into Claire at _ some_ point! ;) I'll have Chapter 4 up in any of the following dates: (1) after I publish Chapter 4 of my other fic, _Roses_, (2) after I publish Chapter 10 of my other fic, _Mixed Emotions_, or (3) once I finish Chapter 4 of this thing before (or after) I even finish any of the other two aforementioned chapters of my other fics. Mmkay, buh-bye now. :3


End file.
